Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.

I will clamber through the clouds and exist.

I have an habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am leading a posthumous existence.

All writing is a form of prayer.

As the Swiss inscription says: Sprechen ist silbern, Schweigen ist golden,- "Speech is silvern, Silence is golden;" or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.

X. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!” XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill’s side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing.